


History

by tanaleth (elavellan)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Mage-Templar Dynamics (Dragon Age), Pre-Relationship, Shovel Talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-19 06:20:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20326513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elavellan/pseuds/tanaleth
Summary: For the prompt:Cullen has a painfully obvious crush on the newly minted Inquisitor, a Dalish mage named Velthei Lavellan.Knowing what Cullen was like in Kirkwall, Varric, self-appointed Protector of Heroes, has concerns he'd like to voice. Cullen is sad about this.





	History

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fourletterepithet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourletterepithet/gifts).

* * *

I'm gonna leave my body  
_Moving up to higher ground_  
I'm gonna lose my mind  
_History keeps pulling me, pulling me down_

—Florence and the Machine

* * *

Cullen stared down into the drawer of his new desk. It held the scraps that had been in his pockets at Haven: a battered copy of the Chant, a singed handkerchief. And his philter. The box lay half-concealed under a stack of papers. He wasn't quite ready to part with it. He should be, but he wasn't.

The drawer was loose on its hinges. Cullen gave it a shove just as the door across from his desk opened to let in a long ray of afternoon sun.

It didn't help the headache that was brewing in his forehead. He'd spent too long talking with Her Worship in the courtyard—he should have known better, but she hadn't seemed to want to let him go. The thought had his cheek muscles twitching as he looked up to see a stocky figure silhouetted in the doorway.

"Hey, Cullen," it said. The voice wasn't that of his runner. It was, however, irritatingly familiar.

"Is that Varric?" Cullen pinched his nose and looked away from the light. They stung his nostrils, these headaches, with a pungent smell of decay that lingered for hours. It followed him no matter how fresh the mountain air or how pleasant the company. And he'd have preferred Velthei's company to Varric's, come to that. 

"Don't tell anyone." Varric's silhouette took clearer shape as he shut the door and strolled into the office as if it belonged to him. "I'm lying low to avoid my hordes of admiring fans." He approached the desk and gave it a considering look.

Cullen straightened. _ Impudent dwarf. _

"This looks familiar," remarked Varric, kicking the base of the desk. Cullen suppressed a wince as his skull throbbed in response. "Your old one from Kirkwall?"

"A well-intended gesture from our ambassador." Cullen sighed through his nose. "I could have lived without it, myself."

"Just tell me it wasn't Meredith's."

Cullen permitted himself a soft snort as he turned to his still-empty bookcase. "If you'd seen the state of her office after the Rebellion, you wouldn't ask that question."

"I saw enough," said Varric, still examining the inlaid arms on the desk. Cullen had been rather hoping no one would notice the Kirkwall heraldry, but from the dwarf's vantage point, it must be hard to miss. "I was there with Hawke," the dwarf added with a quick glance upward. "Just in case you forgot."

Just the reminder Cullen's headache had wanted to spring into full maturity. He leaned back against the bookcase and folded his arms. "What do you need, Varric?"

"A moment of your time, if you've got one to spare."

"I don't."

"Well, that's just too bad." Varric strode across the room to shut the other open door. There was a strong breeze outside, but Cullen winced as the draught disappeared and the room grew quieter. He liked it airy. Better a half-crumbled tower than a confining one.

"You've got some nerve, dwarf."

"Just a big mouth. So." Varric gave an easy grin that didn't quite reach his eyes, and Cullen braced himself for the worst. 

"So?"

The dwarf shoved his hands in his voluminous pockets and looked speculatively up at Cullen. Despite his position and his greater height, Cullen felt more than a little intimidated, and more than a little annoyed at his own response to such a simple ploy.

"You and the Inquisitor," said Varric. 

Cullen dropped his arms. "I beg your pardon?"

"Don't play dumb." Varric leaned back, a little too casually. "You might fool Leliana with that pretty face, but I know better."

"I don't see what business it is of—" Cullen shut his eyes briefly. His ears were buzzing. "That is, there's nothing to discuss."

Varric lifted a brow. "That was about as convincing as an Orlesian virgin's blush. If you're going to be a great leader, you'll have to play the Game better than that."

"I'll leave the diplomacy to our ambassador," Cullen snapped. But his pulse was jumping with something akin to hope. Varric was close to Velth—to the Inquisitor. Had she said something about—

"I've seen the way you look at her," said Varric flatly. Brutal as a bucket of cold water to the face. "And I'm not the only one. Andraste's ass, man, what's wrong with you? Look, I like the elf. But forget my personal feelings. She's in charge of the whole damn Inquisition. You think it won't mess with her head to get involved with a templar?"

"I'm not a templar."

Varric scoffed. "Sure, pal. You tell yourself that."

Cullen paused, then moved with slow deliberation to the other side of the desk. He didn't even have a bloody chair yet—at least, not one that wasn't covered in rubbish—so he could only stand there with fisted hands, leaning his forearms on the tiled surface of the desk, and glare down at the dwarf. 

"What business is it of yours?" he bit out.

"None. Zero. Except that I knew you in Kirkwall, and she didn't."

"None of us were at our best in Kirkwall," Cullen said pointedly. 

"Maybe. But not all of us were second in command of the freaking Gallows. I don't know everything that went down there, but I definitely remember the things you said about mages."

Cullen could almost have laughed, except that there was no humor in it. "Are you asking my bloody… intentions towards her?"

"No." Varric met his eyes directly. "I'm telling—" as Cullen's fists clenched, he held up his palms in a pacifying gesture—"all right, all right, I'm _ strongly advising _ you to keep it professional."

Cullen's vision was starting to blur. "It's not your place to advise me."

"Well, someone's got to say it. I saw you flirting in the courtyard earlier like a pair of kids. Cut it out, is all I'm saying. For the sake of everyone here. Even if you don't care about her."

"Of course I—" His voice caught. He ran a hand over his face, then dropped it and gave Varric a hard look. The dwarf didn't even look unsympathetic. Just honest.

And he was right, wasn't he?

"Just don't mention this conversation to her," Cullen muttered, defeated. "Varric..."

"I won't." The dwarf nodded and turned to the door. "See ya, Curly."

Cullen found himself still speaking.

"I'm not that man anymore," he said. Pleaded, even.

Varric glanced back over his shoulder, his face uncharacteristically serious. "Aren't you?"

The door clicked quietly shut, as quietly as the low curse Cullen let out before turning back to his papers. There was work to do. A mountain's worth of work to do.

But it was getting harder to ignore the contents of that drawer.


End file.
